


The Experiment of Endurance

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, Body Dysphoria, Body Horror, Child Neglect, Codependency, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Graphic Description, Meta, Metafiction, Multiverse, Past Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Reader Is Not Chara, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader-Insert, Reverse Harem, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, To An Extent, get ready for Massive Angst Anal, some meta bullshit, that's alternate universes plural, using y/n as a sentient character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-03-20 23:56:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13728711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The FitnessGram Pacer Test is a multistage aerobic capacity test that progressively gets more difficult as it continues...all ancient memes aside, this is a story about someone who isn't really anyone befriending a skeleton duo. then, they meet more skeletons, and make friends with those monsters too.





	1. a welcome note

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Author, The Reader, And Six Skeletons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13518954) by [Lemning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemning/pseuds/Lemning). 



> three guesses as to who i am, and the first two don't count by the time you reach the end of this chapter

I am you, but not.

You are me, only in certain ways.

I am only you in the way that they want me to be, and all the rest is up for me to choose. 

You can call me a blank slate, and fill in my appearance with what you look like. You can control my eye color, my hair color, the tone of my voice and my skin. Sometimes, you even control what my gender is, or how long my hair can be. You are everything I am, but I am also everything you are not. 

Tell me, do you know who I am? A puppet? Wielded by the person who calls themself an author? My god?

 

You know me. You've read about me-- when I am you.

I apologize if this is all confusing. Allow me to start us over.

 

Let's call me… Blank.

 

I could go for a more commonly used or easier name, like Void, or White, but this is all under the Author's control. I am afraid I have no real say in anything of the matter, really, and that everything you are about to read next will be all fabricated. Fancy words, all of them from the god who controls me, in order to enchant you further into our little play. However, I can tell you some small facts.

I have no real opinion or preference; nor a true name.

I am only a puppet for the Author. 

Everything I am saying is written ahead of 'time' by the Author. They are me, in a sense, and I am only a portrayal of their best qualities, which they somehow hope to impress you with. Sometimes, I am also a mirror of your own qualities. They think, they suppose-- in a way, without any sort of vices, I am not truly a person. This should hurt me, of course, but I am nothing but a blank canvas. I don't mind. I can't, anyways.

 

Don't worry.

It's alright.

I have no true interests.

I have no opinion.

No friends.

No backstory; no family.

 

Unless you count the Author as my parent or birther.

 

They only wanted to introduce me to you, for this brief chapter.

They hope that you enjoy what's to come, because I will be doing much acting.

They're inputting 'personality' and 'opinion' into me, right now.

 

Soon, I won't be Blank anymore.

 

I'll go by another name, maybe.

 

Or not.

 

 

 

 

The time has come.

Goodnight and good morning, Reader.


	2. the cronch n monch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's the classic 'you're the next-door neighbor to your romantic love interest(s)' ruse. get ready for some exposition, hon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for not very graphic descriptions of gore, alcohol, mentions of prostitution and shitty attempts at programming lingo from the class i took when i was nine

 

>  > c/ begin_countdown

 

 

> > c/ load_map

The world is small, but will expand as you explore it. It's an Earth, a surface world, where the monsters have surpassed the Barrier, and are attempting to co-exist with humans. There are the radicals, the peacemakers, and the neutrals who really give no shits about the news. You are a neutral, and feel no need to save any monsters from any humans-- unless they are bothering you directly. You have nothing against either.

You exist in a small part of the US called Ebbott Village. The mountains are a wonderful view from anyone's window, until you get sick of the damned peaks.

 

>  > cd/ 20

 

 

> > c/ in_house1

Your house is not large, nor is it small. It's small enough not to be a menace to tidy or clean up, but you don't have any pets, so you wouldn't know for sure. You don't have any kids either, thank god. ~~That'd be a nightmare to write, wouldn't it?~~

You are not lonely, despite the fact that you're basically living in solitary confinement, all by yourself. 

You're not.

Not at all.

The peace and quiet is better than the fighting you're used to hearing, anyways.

 

>  > cd/ 15

 

 

> > c/ in_backstory

> > c/ in_family

You used to live with your family up until you were eighteen; and old enough to be emancipated. What a relief that ordeal was. Your family was toxic to you, your father verbally abusive but never leaving a mark except for on your mind. Your mother was never around to see what he ever did to you or your older sister. You hate him, but your dastardly love for your family, instilled and beaten into you through blood, bruises, smoke and tears, keeps you from acting on your hatred. You have a nearly obsessive interest in your older sister's well-being, as she was the only remotely positive role model you had growing up.

Even if she took after your abusive father when you were both younger.

The scars show on your back, and you never go to the beach as a result.

You can't swim anyways.

 

>  > cd/ 9

 

 

> > c/ in_friends

It was hard to make friends, when you were younger. You couldn't find the voice to speak. You couldn't share your interests in fear of being reprimanded or hit like at home. You were too shy to speak out, to talk to those who you wanted to befriend, and you regret it now.

One day, though, someone did speak to you. It's all because of her. It's all for her.

 

 

> > c/ ent_characterFB

You can't remember her name now, it's been too many years. But that day in elementary school when she talked to you, when she was nice to you and didn't hit you or make fun of you for making a mistake, you found yourself dedicated to this girl.

Your heart hurts when you think about her.

You were separated when you both graduated to middle school, but you hope she's still doing okay. She was mature, and she _knew_ what was happening like you did. She was like you. It was so relieving to talk to her after acting like a baby for so long. She didn't even care about your true voice. The rumbling baritone that lay behind your usual, nasally high pitched voice. You had hated your voice so much back then. It still persists, along with your social ineptitude. You know sign language now, though. You can just sign everything you want to say.

 

>  > cd/ 3

 

 

> > c/ awaken

Stirring from a good ten hours of sleep, you lie in the darkness of your room for a while, glad you shut the blinds yesterday. Your limbs ache, the concept of stretching waking up with you.

 

 

 

> > c/ op_eyes

Opening your bleary eyes, you're met with the lavender shade of your bedroom wall.

 

 

> > cd/ error

Wonderful.

From what you remember of stumbling home drunk and sad as all hell last night, you took off your glasses in the kitchen while the arm of a stranger kept you steady, and then left the damn things there because you were sobbing. The salty tears were gathering puddles in your lenses. Oddly enough, you're pretty sure the stranger wasn't a human being, because their arm was oddly skinny for a flesh being. Then again, they could just be born with a high ass metabolism. You wouldn't know. 

 

 

> _> cd/ error_

The distinct, lingering hangover of more than you should have drank last night makes itself known through an axe in your head. You reach up to feel your scalp, wondering if the sensation was real or all in your head. (Pfft.) 

 

 

> **> cd/ error**

Er...

 

> **> cd/ error**
> 
>  

Your headache becomes worse, the rush of blood running through your body like a thousand hooves pounding the surface of your brain. You grasp the wooden handle of the axe currently lodged within your skull. You hesitantly tug a little, and you're suddenly aware of some crusted blood around the blade of the axe. Oh, that's in pretty deep. Your weak grip does little to wiggle it out. Bits of dried up blood move and flake down your face, brushing against your cheeks.

Hmm..

That's not good, is it?

 

You should be panicking right now, but all you feel is a cool, calm, detachment from the current situation at hand.

Shouldn't you be dead about now? 

 

What the hell happened last night?

 

 

 

> > reboot  
> 

Okay, okay, okay.

You can do this.

Just think.

 

 

> > loading.
> 
> > loading..
> 
> > loading...
> 
> > loading....

Think about what happened yesterday night, remember what the hell you drank, who the fuck took you home and  _if they did this._

 

> _> reboot_fail_

Sharply inhaling through your nose, you reach up to tangle your hands in your hair, as you usually do when you're about to panic, but the goddamn axe in your head gets in the fucking way. Okay, maybe your first course of action should be to get this piece of shit out first. God, what if someone knocks and sees you like this? Imagine the _headlines_! "Person of Questionable Gender Spotted with Axe Lodged in Skull; Blood Everywhere! Failed Axe Murderer on the Loose?" You'd never get a job! How the hell are you; a supposed dead person, gonna pay the bills then? Whore yourself out to weirdos who're into nonperishable goods?  **What if they have necrophilia?** Hell no!

(Okay, maybe you would.)

(If you were _really_ that desperate.)

> > c/ open_blinds

You begin to pace your bedroom, which you've nearly forgotten that you're still in. Your eyes dart around the dimly lit room, landing upon the familiarly shaped objects salvaged from your childhood, before you glimpse the window ~~ _-wasn't it just closed?? What the hell? Are you delusional?_~~

 

And two equally surprised skeletons, their window adjacent to yours, providing a perfect view of your... new accessory.

> > c/ save  
>  > c/ exit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> checklist of skeletons to write
> 
> \- sans (this is crossed out)  
> \- papyrus (this is also crossed out)  
> \- sans  
> \- papyrus  
> \- sans  
> \- papyrus  
> \- sans  
> \- papyrus  
> \- sans  
> \- papyrus  
> \- sans  
> \- papyrus  
> the first two are done. now for the next pair.


	3. nice to meet you (not really)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some panicking (and then more confusion) ft. ut skeletons + a special guest
> 
> warning: somewhat graphic imagery that regards an axe; a nervous breakdown; severe depression; references to childhood abuse/neglect and trauma

_Shit. Shit shit shit shit_ **fuck. ASS.**

They continued to make direct eye contact with you, their wide, gaping eye sockets frozen in shock and fear, as if waiting for you to make your dramatic fall. One of them had their jaw open, and the shorter skeleton standing next to them looked disgusted, both of them missing the usual 'eye lights' that you'd see on skeletons around town. You're pretty certain that if skeletons could puke, that short one probably would've. (Can they??)

 

 

> > c/ reboot
> 
> _> c/ reboot._
> 
> _> c/ reboot.._
> 
> _> c/ reboot..._
> 
> > c/ reboot_successful

It took you a whole three more seconds to think of something to say before you scrambled to close the blinds, confusing yourself as to which string did what. The cords on the left closed and opened them. The cords on the right raised and lowered them. But they came in pairs, which meant even more precious seconds wasted trying to hide your current predicament from your apparent neighbors. One of which, who you can hypothesize, was the one who actually took the time and effort to get you back home, into your apartment. Then proceeded to watch you cry an ocean and probably puke on yourself. Speaking of which, you're wearing different clothes than from last night's drinking binge. That's probably not good?

 

 

> > c/ get_back_on_topic

Once you're done making yourself look STUPID, you finally close the blinds after you untangle your hands from your hair, and notice how your hands aren't as sweaty as they used to be because you're fucking dead. Then you lose yourself in your thoughts, sitting down on the edge of your bed and ignoring the rushed knocking on your door until it's too late.

**BANG BANG**

_What the_ fuck  _happened last night?_

 _I_ _wake up with an axe in my head, crusty blood in my scalp, and the most I remember is a skinny fucking arm guiding me through the goddamn doorway._

**knock knock**

_Did I go home with an actual serial killer or something?_

**BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG**

_Did they fail in their attempt to kill me, panicked, then left with the murder weapon still in my head?_

**knock knock knock**

**_WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS THING?_ **

"MISS?? SIR??? H...HUMAN, ARE YOU ALRIGHT??"

"bro, i don't even know if they _are_ a human."

"THAT'S WHY I HESITATED!"

**_HOW THE HELL AM I GONNA GO TO WORK WITH THIS SHIT IN ~~ME~~ MY HEAD?_ **

"SO WHAT COULD THEY BE THEN???"

"not human."

"YOU JUST SAID THAT!!"

"nah, i said _'bro, i don't even know if they are a human.'_ "

"NYEEEEEEEEEHHHHHH!!!"

It's only when one of your unlikely guests screams outside of your door-- presumably out of frustration-- that you tear yourself out of your thoughts. 

 

"..."

"..."

"..."

"should we call the landlord?" 

_Aw, fuck. No, don't do that. Please don't, the landlord is a fucking weirdo and he intimidates me. I'm pretty sure he's a drug dealer._

 

"I THINK WE SHOULD CALL UNDYNE. SHE'S A POLICE OFFICER  _AND_ SHE'S GOT EXPERIENCE WITH HUMANS WHO ARE NOT FRISK."

 _Who's Frisk??? Who is Undyne??? Is Frisk a kid??_ What is happening right now????

 

"ok."

"I WILL CALL HER!"

"ok."

"DON'T BREAK DOWN THE DOOR!"

"that's more of something you might do, paps."

_Wait, for real?_

"OH-- COME ON NOW! HUSH, YOU. I'M CALLING UNDYNE."

_Okay, so there are people standing outside of my door who are about to call the police. Maybe I can just convince them not to call anyone? But there are hallway cameras! What if they catch a glimpse of me? Am I supposed to say that it's just a Halloween decoration I found in my closet???_

"UNDYNE! UNDYNE, THANK GOODNESS, THERE'S... A HUMAN?? I THINK??? WITH AN AXE IN ITS HEAD, AND IT'S STILL MOVING AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO BECAUSE SANS IS JUST STANDING AROUND LIKE HE WANTS TO GO HOME AND I DO TOO BUT WHAT ABOUT THE HUMAN I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S HAPPENING BUT WE HAVE TO SAVE THE HUMAN UNDYNE PLEASE HELP."

_TOO LATE. RED ALERT. THIS IS NOT A FUCKING DRILL. TIME TO BARRICADE THE APARTMENT._

You get off the bed and rush out of your bedroom, looking about frantically for items to keep intruders out. There's a ticking countdown in the corner of your eye.

 

 

 

 

> > c/ begin_countdown

 

  _oKAY, LITERALLY WHAT THE HELL._

There are little red numbers that you can see literally only if you stand still and don't look directly at them. It's really creepy and before you can focus on them, they disappear. You apparently have three minutes to barricade the fortress before this Undyne comes and breaks your fucking door down. In fact, you're wasting precious time just standing around narrating shit! You need to fucking get going! 

What the hell are you even gonna barricade the door with??

Standing in the centre of your living room, you run to the kitchen looking for anything you can use to keep the door shut. Of course, there's nothing, because you're a weakling who can't stand any heavy lifting. You do, however, have a really nice couch. You power-walk out the kitchen to the living room to push the couch against the door. With a lot of desperation, sweating, and anxiety, you get it done in what could be called fifteen or twenty seconds. Unfortunately, the countdown timer appears again, and completely fucks up your sense of victory and accomplishment with its smug announcement of your two minutes remaining. Maybe you took longer than you thought pushing the couch up against the door. Hell, is that couch even gonna withstand this Undyne? You have a feeling it won't.

You decide to simply hide in the bathroom and fly into your bedroom, sprinting fast enough for you to reduce your apartment to a blur. You almost slam the door shut behind you, locking it. You contemplate pushing your bed against the door, but you really don't think you can do that in time to defend yourself against a police officer. 

Leaving your bedroom door only locked, your first line of defense being the couch pushed against your door, you almost throw yourself into the bathroom and lock that door too, with the countdown timer flashing a red fifteen seconds at you. Trembling in fear, you still yourself by sitting in the bathtub, and you wonder why you're even scared if they're only coming to check up on you. Why not just let them see? Why are you so afraid? 

 

> **> cd/ TIME'S_UP**

**BAM**

 

> _> c/ rip_out_the_axe_

**BAM**

Confused with your own thoughts, you find yourself unwillingly bringing your hands up to wrap around the handle of the axe once again.

**BAM**

This isn't you.

**B̶͔̝͆̔Ą̶̛̼̜͉̓̅̽̓͜M̶̨̛̱̼̑̎͆̇̾̎̚͠**

You don't want to do this.

**B̶̨̧̡̛̖̤̫̞͖͕̦̼̳̜̻̰̙̺̲̼͇̹̤͉̲̓̆̈̎̈́̆̉̆͜͝ͅA̸̧̨̛̹͙̼̖̳͈͈̝̪̝͋̿̄͐̋̿̊͊̉̿͒̄͆̆͘͠͠ͅM̴̜͚̈́̔̋̀̏̋̏̍́̂̉̑̐̀͐̈́͌̑̋̅͗͘͠͝͠**

 

 

> **>  O̸̢̨̫̥̯̞̭̘͍̗͖͎̭̤͚͔̜̭̻̰̗̫͓͕̹͓̿̀̾͋̆̈́̆̊̃̈͒̏̉͜͜h̸̨̨̛̞̻͖̯̗͖̞͇̖͔̟̜̲͉̼̰͚̜͕͙̟̽̉͐̈́̒̓̋́̑̑͗́̈̋̏̑̿̑̄͊́́̔̚̕͝͝͝͝ͅ,̷̢̝̜͕̪̹̫̯̼̜͊̋̀̈̒̄͂̍͊͒̂̆͆̊̉̑̊̃̉̆̍̕͝ͅ ̴̨̰̭̫̗͙͎͖͍̰̘̩͈̹̘̦̠͌͐͆̍̈́̐͛̏̎̋͌̃̓̐̔͑̚̚̕͜͝ͅͅb̷̧̨̧̧͍̠̲̗̥͇̦͈͓̲͙̲͇͓̭͈̬̦͈̭̤̦̩̪̟̯̼͕̺̗̞͎͙̳͗͐̓̅̄̊̑̊̐̉͋͛̿̂̀̄̀͂̾͂͋̃̃͗͋̈́́̋́̋̓̓͂̔͆͂̌̔͒̒̎̚̕͝͝ų̵̡̨̢̛̻̟͖̮̹̬̜̣̬̦͚͎̞̯̩̱̰̳̲̦̮̫͖̰͕̝̲̟͓̞͙̈̽̓̌̀̾̓̃̒̄̽̃̿̃̔͛̆̽̌͗̕̚͜ţ̸̧̢̧̱̠̦͎̘̼̲̞̗̹̫͈̬̱͚͈͓͍̰̼̳̺͇͉̺̺̖͉̩̼̳̺̞͚͇̱̤͖̻̯̘͓̱͇͋͑̈́͗̾̌̓̐̇̆̌̒̈́͛̕ͅ ̶̨̢̨̨̨̢̡̢̯̭̙͇̬͇̠͚̹̥̻͎̳̬̥̪̘͎̦̜͉̥̹͙͚̻̣̝̱̺̦̯̤̮̥͚͇͖̦̘͙̕y̵̧̢̛̛̩͉͖͓͙̜͈̰̬̗̔̓͋͂̉͊͑͊̐͛̈́͌͐̋̈́̈́͑̓̃͋̏̄͒́̓̆̓͗̆̍̔̈́̉̀̾͛̈́͆̕̚͜o̴̧̨̡̢̨̢̜̬͎̙͉͕̰̞̬͇̱̗̯͎̭̖̳̠̟̬̺̳͉͎̰̤̟̮̝͇͙̤̝̮̞͍̘̣̜̖̲̫̹͇͕͆͒͋̿͜ư̶̛̩̗̗͓̫̺͔̍͐͒̿͊̓̏̎͌̐̐̈̍̀͆̔̐̂͒̾̾̓̊̽̎̇̐͛̾̀͋̽̎̆̐̉̉̍̐̑͋͌͑̑͘͘̚̕͝͠͝ ̷̨͚̲̝̠̻̲͝ͅͅh̶̨̨̧̨̡̧̢̢̖̗̲͙͈̳̟̱̻̟̜͕͔͔̟͚̩̥̝͍͙͔̣͚̣͍̯̱͍͍̰̪͉̭̹̪̮̘͍̠̯̉̈̿̒͊̄̂̆͐̽͊̌̆̿͗̇͑̄͑̊̈́͗̈́̌̇́̇͆̿͂̕͘͝ͅá̴̧̛̛̳̜̜̜̖̼̤͙̟̯̳̲͙̭̳͖̲̣͎̯͔̱̝̥̤̩̲̞̝͚̹̪̦̣͕̥̰̞̼̘̦̾̒́͗̎̎̌̽͋̆͂̄̊̈́̀͒̀̅̆͛̓͛̌̔̎̐̍͋̓͘͘͜͠͝͠ͅv̷̡̢̨̨͙̭̬̳͕̭̤̗̪͔̯͇̩̞͍̯͖̙̮̞̪̗̖̞̤̖̺͚̟̪͔͇̗̝̣̫͖̅̏̎̌̊͛̔͆͗̿̈́̄̈́͂͋̄͋̄́̌̇͐̈́̅̋̔͒͊͊̓̌͘̕͘͘͘͘̚͠͝͠͝ͅě̷̛̺͖̝͉͇͕̌͆̂̅͘͜ͅ ̷̡̧̡̡̧̡̛̘̼̬͕̥͖̬͓͇̲̥̺̬̺̩̍̒́͑̂̑̅͑̏̈̌̀̋̌̎̔̏̐̄̕͜͝͝ͅţ̵̧̨̧̢̮͓͔̬͍̖̤̘̮̼̗̦̜͓͓̰̤͍͎̖̦͖̈̈́͂̌̽̾̆̍͗̎͜͜͠ỏ̵̳̜̙̀̽̌͛̄̄͑̓̓͆̃̿̊̋́̔̓̅͆̇́̕͝͝.̷̡̛͙̗͇̼̠̪̠̪͉̉̅́̑͂͊͒̓̔̈́̔̂͐̒͗̃̈̓͛̎͋͗̆̿̒͋̉̈̄͐̿̃̽̿̓̈͘͘̕͘͝͠**

With a pair of weak, trembling hands, you begin to jerk the axe out of your skull. Every attempt sends a flash of white and blinding pain. Ḣ̷̢̡̺̻͎̯̺͈̬͔͍͇̲̯̗̖̘̱̈̂̽̈̽̿̏̌̓̾̿͊̓͜͜͝͝ǫ̷̨̢̡̛͉̬͕̗̖̩̟͉̺̠̱̖͉͎̥̯̗͕̯̼͔̠̝̊͗̑̏̈́̎͒̌̉͒̚͝͝ͅw̶̢̛̛̱̞̣̥̳̦͖̪̙͇̲̠̯͇͂̈͗̍̔͛̂̄̍͆̃͆͋̐͂͆̈́̑͊̃́̅̍̔͗̋̒̽̓̾̈̄͒̍̏̇̎̒͒̚̕͝͝͝͝ ̷̢̨̡̛̖̘̝̹̟̙̲̝͎̙̮͎̬̜̣̳̘͚̥͙̪̠̗̤̺̗̼͖̲͍̜̰͔̜̭̼̫̂͛̈́͂̑̾̄̓̈́͑̃̊̈̉̄̑̂̋̉͊̂̍͂̽̌̈́̓͒̉̇͒̽̍͊̽̒̒̋͋͑͛̐̂̕͜͜͠͝͝ͅc̷̨̧̙̥͓̤͇̻̝͓͚̱̪̘̟̫̯̞̜̘̼͈̯̘̣͒̈́̿̈͑͌̌͗̄͒̽̀̇̏̌͗̓͂̎̎̎̍̚͜͠͝a̴̧̡̛̜̭͍̲̠̻̲̪̙̥͕̪̱̺̳͇͓̹͚̼̖̝̳̰̳̱͎͇̼̘̼̥̙͕̲̗̗̤̤͖̱͕͇̮̲͍̣͔̯̠͇̗̯̩̾̊́͗ñ̶̢̻̜̭͎̖̗̺̫̱̲̤̯̣̪̺͚͙̖̯̥̹̫͔̭̭̖͈͈͇̺̰̬̟̰̥ ̴̪̮͊͂̋͊̊̌͌͐̈̈́̂̎̈́̆͊̀̃̊͐̚̕͝͠ͅy̵̢̧͍̗̤̻̬̹̳̞̘̰̘̲͖͕̰̳̪̩̻̞̦̣̖̗͓̹̹̳͌̆́̓́͂͊͂͛̀̈̆̾̿̉̈́̔̇̀̅̂̃͛̕͝ͅơ̶̛͍͍͔̰͉͈̲͈̦̥̟͛͌͒̃̈̓̄͊̇̇̊̅̏͊̿̉̅̎̑̋͌̿̋̈́̃͐͑͐͗̈́̊̿̓͐͆̌͂̋̍̊̈́͆̆̕̚͝͝͝͠u̸̢̨̧̢̺͕͖̦̗̲̲͖̙̩͉̤̰̝͈͇̘̭͓̩̰͙͎͚̣͇̥̮̙̼̟͈͎̼͔̳͍̪̗̰͓̩͌̌̉͌̅͆̈́̏͒͌̑̎̀̿̊̍̈́̾̈́͂̍̓͋͜͜͠ ̷̨̨̢̨̛̛̼̫̝̼̟͕͕̻̫̮̥͙͉͉̗̗͖̥͓͖̺͕̥͙̼͎̗̦̥̩̦̻͔̣̫̺̬͈̱̦̻̺̽̓̽̍͆̿̀͛̓̉̌̌̌͒̍̀̈́̇͛̍̽̄͂̇̂̓̈̈́̾͒̉̆̉̀̈̑̈̀͒͗̽̒̓͊͛̚͜͠͝͠ͅͅb̵̡̡̨̨̡̨̢̛͓̟̠̝͎̳̗͍͖̲̥̦̠͈̩̫̲̰͓͙̥͈͎̱̬̗̙̹̣̘͍͖̞̯̭̌̉́͂̂̈́̃̄̓̍͌̐̐̈́̈́̌̀͘̚̚̕̕͝͠ͅe̸̡̢̧̛̛̪̥̤̖͕̹̮̝̦͎̘̖̳͉̺̳̰̜̪͚͖͓͔̞͙̩̤̜̖̗̺̺͎̿̎̋͂͐͛̓̊̇̾͌͜͜͠ͅͅ ̴̨̨̹͙̦̹͓̜͔̳͔̱͔̥̖̦̻̫̘͎̺̣̝͓̮͉͖̝͖̠̩̘͖͍̺̱̭̺̠̱͕̳̦̙̼̮̪͐̋͆͌͊͗͋͆̄̑̍̄͗̊͌͋̀̋̔̆͑͋̓͂̋͋̍͐̇̐͒͛͂̄̓̃͂̇͑̈̀̍̏̌̾̏͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝ͅd̴̨̛̛̺̺̿͂̾̽̈́͒̋͛͐̂̍́̆̾̽̿̐͑͗̌͐̑̔̄͌̈̾̋̂̐̍̅̐̌͐͘̕̕͝͠͠͠͠͝ȩ̸̧͚̩̮̹͖̰̩̬̘̃̇͆͋̆̒̽͂͝͝ą̴̪̜͙͋͊͐̇͑̀̈̈̋̈́̅̐͘͜ḓ̷̡̧̨̡̨̤̖̳̖̠̟̫̫̞̪̣̙͚̗͖͇̱͍̣̤̙̤̰͇̟͖̠̤͚̱͙͖̭̇̀̽̎̇͊̈́̒̄́͋̈́͋̈́͋̑͛͒͜͝ ̶̨̨̧̡̢̨̲̖̙̠̯̠̞̠̤̫̩̘̲̼̯̗͕͎̩͖̬̘͍̦͈̲̖̱̞͔̤͇̻͈̬͇͍̮̘̦̮̹̣̜͇̌̆̓̈́̊͛̒͋̄̇́͘͜ͅi̵̧̢̢̛̙̰̻̳͍͔̻̥͓̳̻̟̪͔̖̟̭̩̖̥̟̱͔̝̭̝̩̮͌̅̃̽͐̐̍̿͂̑̈́́͌̋̋̒̿͋̍̌̅͗̒̈́͗̉̿̉̏͂̈̚̕͝͠͝ͅͅf̸̛̺̳̭̞͈̩̖̝̦̳͖̘͍̯̺̬̼͖̥̗͔͍͕̟̏̈́̔̾́̌̐̓̓̂͑̈̒̑̈̂̋͒̿̏̊͌̆̐͐̄̍̃͂̂̆̅̉̍͛͋̑̾̏̐̽̚̚̕͘̕͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝ ̶̢̹̮̖͍͓͖̟͙͎̿͐̾̀̃́̀́̇̂̌͒̌͑̔̉̈̿̎̀͊̍͊̂̈́͋̈́̐̅͗͗̈́̃̿͜͝͝͝͝y̴̡̨̢̡̧̨̡̡̨͓̗̭̝̬̥̩͈̺̭͓̩͇̞̜͈̺̲̪̹̟̮̫͉̲͇̯͖̠͉͇̙̞͕̝͊͜ǫ̵̛̩̙̣͈̹̘̝͚͍̬̹͈̟͎̟̌̈́̏͑́͊̓̇͌̾͋̓̊͐̂̌̅̽͐̎̿͌̐̊̅̈́̀̄̈́͑̽̇̈́̿̓̄̃̍̓̚͝͠ư̴̢̬̣̳͕͇̫̩̠͋̃̂͋͂̀̆͛̊͒̆̔̌̌̽̈́̿̎͑̆͒̕͝'̷̦̩͇͎͓̹͇͎̮̠̖͑̒̈́̒̓͌̽̽̓͆̑̑͑̅̇̈́̽͐̕̚͘̕͠͝ŗ̶̢̨̢̢̢̛̛̙̺̤̠͈͍̻̤̤͓̮̫̗̲͇͙̥̲͔̖̪̤̩̪͙͚̾̎͋͒̐̈́̊̓͐̎͒̅͌͆͂͊̉̋̅̑̅̔̉̈́̌͆́̔̚̕͠͠ę̸̡̨̛͕̤̫̘͖͈͎̫̣͎̗͇̠̮͕͚͕̦̈́͛̋̐̎̏̋̽̈́̒͛̐̈́͆̅̑͐͐̒̉͋͗̉̈́̈́̎̌͊͘̚͝͠͝ ̸̢͍̳͙̮̲͎̠͍͔̼̲̯̙̼̤̭̝̟̥͓͉̞̺̞̣̲̝̜̣̃̌̍͒͠ṣ̸̨̨̧̨̡͈̰̖̺͈̺̩͈̲̠̼͙͉̞̳͖̝̜͓̺͉̰̲̹͉̯̩̺͍̟̬̠̙̖͎̙̹̞̤̟̙̻̤̺͔̫̱̄̋̔̈̑͊̐̄͌̓͛̑̊͊̆̐̈́͊̈́̏̎̑̉̏̊̔̈́̀̏͒̄͜͜͝͝͠ţ̸̡̨̤͈͓̬͍̟̦̺͇͚̞̦̙̻̯̘̪͎̹̖̹͇͇͕̾̒̌͐͆̆͋̎͋̎̇͗̆͊̈́̅̋́̃͌̈̈́͛̏̇̿̈́̄͘͘͘͠͝ͅͅḯ̷̡̨̧̧̢̡̧̢̧̛̘̝̥̯͇̖͖̦̫͍͚̤̘̺̝̦͕̜̮̪̱̻̖̞͕̜̬̙̫̬͉̻͙̟̠̳̗̼̠͙̞̻̬͉̄̓͆͂́̅̓̀̋̓͛̌̇͌̅̅̃̔̎͒̄̐̅̈́͌͌̈́̾̾͋̽͒̆̀̂̅̓̈́͘͜͠͝͠͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅļ̴̡̢̡̛̗̰͕͔͈̺̦̪͕̪̫̯̖̹͍̯̼̹̥̖̥̫̝̝̻̝̼͙̝̠̬̯̪͍͒̈́̂͌̃̈̈́̆͌̓͒̅̔͌̆̇̆̋̔̔̍̊͐̂͂̅͂͐͐͋̓̎͊͛̏̈́̍̊̑̑͒̂̎̒̂͌̕͘̕̕͜͠͝͠l̵̢̨̧̧̪̩̬̰̭̺̤͕̻͓̟̣͙̼͚̫̰͈̙̖̯͓͙͖̹̔̑̃́́̽̒̇͗ͅͅ ̴̟̦̰̞̺̱͎̳͕͂́̊́͛̔̏͂̑̄̿͠ͅa̶͚̪͌̊̽̈́̏̍͗͂͌̇͗͆̕͠b̶̨̡̨̛̛̝̘̠̰̰̼͓̬̼̙͖̜͈̖̺̻̳͎̠̫̻̬͈̳̫̖̪̯̝͉͉̠̖̱̹̪͕̗͕̖̟̫͕͉͓̰̝̭̎́͋̑̅̏̆͑̋̓̾̽͊̍͊̓̿̄̄̋̃̉͆͑̂͛̒̽͆͗́̌̂͒̄͋͊͌̈́̚̚͘̚̚͜͜͝͝͠͝͝ͅl̷̡̧̢̧̢̛͕̣̝̠͕̺̥̪͓͓̥͉̻͇͙̫͓̣̝͓̫̰͈̝̝̲̭̭͉̜͈̭͚̟̱̥̥̉̂̌̋̐̈́̀̇̈́̈́̅͋̐̍̾́̇̋̈̏̄̈̂͗͛̉̅͆̈̄̐͗̈͗͊͆́̌̊̽͗̈͘̚͘̚̚͘̚͜͝͝͝͝ͅe̸̢̧̨̞̘̬͓̣̻͇̣̺̺̼̲͔͙͚̟͉̙͎̤͉̪͈̺̣̞̱̤͉̲̯͙͖̫̗̦̳̜͔͒͒̔͗̊͌̈́͋͐͐͂͌̿́͌͋̌́̓͒̒̿͐̊̑̒͋̓̑̓̐̽̿̀͌̐̽̂͑̓̈̔͐͋̾͒́̔̀͜͠͝ ̴̡̛̗̺͈̝̗̞̳̝̩̭̤̰̭̭͙̭̰̳̳͍̲̙̲̾̎̄̌́̿͐͊͛̓̏̿̔͆̃̓̈́̎͆͋̿̑͆̈́̍͋̑̋̌̀̕̕͘̕͝ͅṯ̷̡̢̨̛̠͈̙̦̙̭̯̙͉̯̼̦͙̬̙͖̻̯̬̭̼͇̤̟̩̞̠̮̤͍̤̫̖͕͚̥͓͒͒̎͒̄̐̒̍͂̈́͆̊̈́̀̋̀̎̆͂̈̚͘͠ͅơ̶̧̨̡̳̬̦͖̬̠̰̖̭͈͙̟͓̻̼͎̩̯̤̳̼̰̮̙̪̺̥̠͙̋̃̈́͐͊̈̄̓̆̔́̄͑̎̽̓̃̉̽̂̐̓̿̓̽́̒̍̾̐̇̊̕͜͜ͅͅͅ ̵̢̨̡̡̨̧̛͓͍͕͚͓͉͔͕̰̫̭̖̩̙͉͖̩͚̜̤̞̱̭͙̮͈͚̘͍̳̼̺̗̻̰̪̝̝͉̹̩̬̣̬̝̰̔̄̍̾̎̈̊́̌̓̕͜͜͠͝ͅͅf̵̨̡̝͍͙̭̼̩̰̺̠̞̣̳̪̪̙̮̮̹̬̱̯̥͚̠̥̫̖͚͚̹̙̺̗̺̘̘̹͉̤̪͖͖̥̭̱̺̱̬̖͈̲̿̿̀͐͋͗̈̆̕ͅe̵̢̛͓̳̹͙͍̱͇̩͐̍̓̈̔̈́̋̓̂̔̒̂̈́̊̽̊͆͆̂̐́͑̔̋̉͊̉͂̿͆̏̾͆̓̐͂̀̈́̂͌́̏̚̚͘͜e̶̛̱͕͙̠̗͖̲̦̱͎͎̪̫̟̻͚͖̪̺͉̱͒̈́͑͂͂̽̾̌͆̃̍̄͊̈͌͂͌͌̏͌̐̈́̀̋̄̍͝l̷̢̢̙͕͔͙̳̅̈́̂͒̆̑̃̽̒́͗̌̈́̊̄ͅ ̵̨̨̧̨̧̨̛̫̺̪̞̬̘̺̮͚͓͚͉̮̗͔͖̟̖̹̼̪͔̯̘͉̟̮̖̹͇̪͇̯̜͋̈̋̇͆̓̄͆̏͌̾͒̔̑̃̍̉̃͋͌̈́̓̉̀̌̏̊̍̑̿̒̊̋̀͋͒̏̿̊̾̾̿̀̕̕̚͘͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅͅp̵̛͇̜̹͓̤͙͕̺̟̝̪̪͕͕̞͕͑̆̿̾̏̂͆̈̓̈́̒̈́͂̒̅͐͛̾̆̏͂̽̈́͐͋̓̓̀̾́̽̌̈́̚̚͘̕͠͝͝a̸̧͇̩̱͉̙͇̗̦͈͔͔̩͔̙̤͖̔͊̽́͂͗͂͋͘i̸͚̲̿͗͛̾̈̉͑͆̈́͗̒̒̆͋͗͑͂̋̍̕̕n̵̢̡̛̛̪̱̩̰̺̯̯͕̱͋̆̑̊̄͛͋́̏̂̃̉̿̂̃̓͑̽̈́͒̏͊͛̃͐̓̈͊̍͒̄̇̐͑̎̾̃̆̈̍͋̅̋̏̕͘͠͝͝͝͝͝?̸̨̡̧̢̢̛̥͓͈͎͓̠͕̫̜̺͕̭̺̲͓͈̼͎̯̹͔̝̘͉̤̼̦͔̖͔̳̰̟͍̦̠͖̩̣̼̪͓̖̟̙̗͔͎̹͎̬̈̎̔̎͐̅̀̒͐͗̅̋̀̒̿̈́̊͌̓̂̎́̇̎̀̅͐̋̈́́͛͑̈́͂͌̎̓̐̈͆̃̈́̕͝͝͝͝ͅ ̸̨̡̧̨̨̡̮͇̣͎̭̹̠̮̥̟̗͓̮̬͎̱̝͎͖̠̬̹̥̬͍̥̠̞̱̟͓̼̞̲̭͑́̌̇̋̎̃̒̂̇͆̏̄͜ͅW̵̢̲̤͍̯̬̠̯̠̺̩̻̦͍͙̞̒̉̿̋̽̋̒̂̏̓̔͑̏̈̊̈̽̃̿̇̏͐͆́̈́̍̔͛̃̈̓̚͜͝͠͠͝h̴̨̢̙̻̩͖̟͓̼̤͎̯̤͉̝̫̘̩̰̳̜̥͔̲͓̻̰̹̙̯͌̑͑̃̏̀̾̈́̽͂̒͂̒̍͋͛̇̅͗̅̓͊͋͊̽̇̉̈́͂̎̈́̎̅͒̚͝͝͠͠ͅy̶̨̧̼̤̩̥̞̠̠̪̫̹̩͚̔̋̒̓̌͗̃͒̐͗̍̇̈́̆̅̄͂͒̄̅͒͌̈́͌̍̾̃̓̌̃͐̂̕̚̚͠͠͠ͅ ̴̨̨̯̜͖̼̙͓̙͉̥̘͖̝͗̈́͐͛͛̃͗̓͐͐͆̋͒̽͛̀̿̈̌̂̏̎̓͐͘̕͜͝͠͝͝ą̶̨̧̢̡̡̤͕͈̝̻̤̭̳͎͕̮͉̩̖͇̰͉̰̫͓̣͎̠̗̺͉̮̳̐̄̇͒̌̐̈͑͊͌̓͂̊̉̔̆̒̏͗̃̔͗̈̔̄̉͌̽̐͊͂̆̂́̎̋̎͛̓̈̀̽̌̅̇̍̉̚̚̕̚͘͘͝͠ͅr̵̨̢̡̢̢̛̛̛̛̩̗̤̜͎͈͚͖̻̫͍͉̪̯̤̗̟̼̳̞̺̹̩̜̠̺̹̞̳̖͔̦̩͎̹̥͚͇̲͚̖͕̊̿̎͂͂̿̈́͗̐̅̽̌͊̓̀̈̓̍͋̓̒̏̆͋̍͂͗́̒̍̈́̓̈͗̀͋̑̔͂̓̎̆̕̚͘͜͠͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅȩ̶̧̢̡̡̖̲̞̯̘̣̲̯̠̟͉̟̬̞͕̻͔͎̯̱̱̝̫͇̱̦̦̼̑̃̾̂̽̇͒̚͜ ̴̢̡̫͔̫̩̪͓̹̤͖̩͕͈̟̮̣͎͉͕̩̖̰̩̜̰͔̥̯̤̮̦̱̯̳͖̞̞̗̘̱̞̔͑̇̇̿͆̑͂́̚ͅͅy̴̢̢̡̫̗͉̫͍͈͈̲͉̦̤̝̭̦̮̘̪̦͖̻̱̪̘̼̺̘͈̾̈̒͋̑́͗͊̒͂̔̓͛̅̄͋̀̉̆͆͛̔͜͜ơ̵̟̰̬̙̪̮̩̞̠̹̲̝̘͕͉̼͚̟͈͖̳̜̥͙͎̘͈͕̺̼͂̈́̓͂͌͋̃̈́̽̒͐̇̔͒̀͆̒̄͒̏̇͋͌̉́̚ứ̶̧̫͍͍͎̳̤̥̺̘̘͖̹̲͎̳̟̗̦̝̟̜̠̻̥͔͛̓̿͂͐͂̉̑̑̍͗͛̃̈́͋͑͐̈́̓̆͛̉̈͑̈́̆̂͂̚̕̕̚͘͜͝͠͝ͅ ̷̨̰͇͓̦͈͓͈͓͕̳͈̹̳̫̭̪̰̤̱̼̹̥͔̯͈͎̗̝̎̌d̷̛̳̖̱͓̤̻̩̜̘̹̙̦̟̠̩̜͕͉̭͎̲̈̈́͋̋̔̽̈́̾̈́͐̆̓̿̏͊̃͋̈́͗̕̕̚̕o̷̡̨̧͚̼̳̦̝̖̱͙̲̠̥̹̙̩͚̥̬̜͈͚̣̮̅̈́̔̄̈̿̈́̾̇͛̈̉̅̚͜͝ͅͅͅi̷̧͇̞͈̬͚̱̗͔̥̞̲̟̞̱̦͕̮̻̝̱̳̘̜͈̦̮̖̲̪̰͉̖̤̟̠̳͔̼̲̇́̎̌̕͜ͅn̶̡̨̡̢̡̬̱͙̜̝̞͚̘̖̺͚̰̟̮̜͇̙̤̥̮̘͚͉̹͉̟̽͆̊̈̌̿̑̇̊̎̋̀̌̄͂̽͐͊̿̓́̑͂̿̿́͜͜͝͝ͅͅg̸̨̨̝͚̞̪̥̼̭͎̘͈͚̣̺̥͉̹̣̱̬̳̘̞͔̤̺͕̯͙̮̲̰̳̪̼͍̾̃̍̈́̃̈́̾̾̓̈̀̈́͑̊̓̂̿͘͝͠͝͝ͅ ̵̢̨̧̛̭̳̻̳͙̜̥͈͉̙̠̯̮̲̄̍͗̄̎́̑̑͋̈́̌͂͗͑̉͑͂̂͘͝͝t̷̛̹̺̘͖̫͓͖̞̏́̄̄͑̆͊͋̍̒͆̏̏̐͌͋̅̈̅̇̌͛̈́͑̂̽̒̉͘̕͘͠͝͝ḫ̶̡̧̛̻̙̺̳̻͉̮̱͍̼͉́̊̀̈́̂̅̋͌̆̓́̓͆̎̽͆͐͐̽͗̾͋͗́̚͝͝ͅį̷̧̡̧̺̳͓̙͙͈̯̜̰̯̞̠̖̗̥̻̝͍̽͋̄̑̈̆͛̅̈̆̿̆̅̓̂̀̈́̓̄͗̀͊͆̄̔͊̑͒͑̀͋̇̊͗͐̀̌͊̅̂̉̍̄̈́͘͘͝͝͝͝ͅs̷̡̡̨̧̡̞̖̩͎̭̗̺̻͓͈̙͇̠̻͉̳̰̙̲̬͈͖̘͔̼̓͛̓͌̿̉̅̈́͑͂͗͌͗̓̈́̃̿͐́̒͛̈́̂̃͒̕̚̚̚̚͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ ̴̨̨̨̨̧̨̯̠̖̺͇͔͓̝̲̝͇̖̣͔̱͓͙͍̟̤̜͚͍̬͎̣̼̳̩͕͐̑̏͗̈́̏͂̇̌̈́̇̅͜͜͝͠ͅͅt̷̨̨̘̝͈̮͙̗͇͈̥̼̬̝͇͖͍͔̺̥͐ͅo̵̢̡̡̨̢̙̻̘̼̝̞̯̤͕͙̭̰̖͙̲̺͔̤̣̖̱̦̝̙̳̓̎̌͆̈̌͗̅͋̏̈́͐̑̈́̐́̊͆͛͋͆̽̊̓͒͛͆̕ͅ ̵̨̮̱͚̳̭̮̣͇͕͎͕̭̭͚̹̞̣͈̙̬̺͓͔͕͇̜̹̮͔͚̠̘̩̦͕͈͓͈̯̬̱̟̮͓̻̌̈̋̍̂͌̏̄̓̍̓͒̇̆̿̚̕͜͝͠ͅͅͅy̸̧̛̬͕̬̭̯̭͈̘̩̺͍̱̰̓̿̂̅̔̈̂͛̏͂̇̄͑̉̒̅͗̽̑̋̌̈́͂̾̅͑̐͂̒̐̅͑̋̊͒̚͘̕͝͝͝ǫ̸̛͇̣͇̦͙̖͔̲̫̜̰̜̤̯̾̒̅̏̍͛̌̽̾̎͒͂̔͐͌̃̊̿̑̀̉̔͒̏̈́̌̕͜͠͠͠͠͠u̴̡̨̡̡̡͍̲͔̜̝̩̣̰̺̯͉̪̜͈̖̯͓͈̰̿̽͛̐̍̀̈́̈̓̄͒̄͊̅̈́͐̓͋̋͌̽̍̎̎̈́̕̚͝͝ͅͅr̸̨̡̨̠̘̜̟̳̦̳͔̖̫̪͈̫̟͙̳̫͕͔̬͙͇͉̖̪̲͔͓̞͚̜͓̗̖̯͉̮̜̟̭̝͍̯̰̟̝̖̻̙͆̔̌͌̿̈́̈̆̅̈́͛̀̈́̄̂͆̑̍̄̾̓́̐̿̒̄̽̽́͌̃̋̄͑̎̌̈́̿̿̚͘͘͜͝͠ͅş̶̛̛͓̩͈̣͖̘̝̪̦̺̗̅̐͊̇͗̿̉̅̿͗̑̇̋̾̍̌͛̔̋̆̿͂̀̿͌̓͜͠͝ȩ̶̢̢̛̘͈͍̹̩͖̼̫̼͇͇̩̳͇̻̫͙͇̺͇̭̱̟̪̲͎̩̦͙̙̝̞̘͈͙̘̙̠̯̒̔͋̀͗̀͗̂͗̈́͊͆͒̾́̽͊̇͊̚̕̚͜͜͜͜͠ļ̸̨̨̢̪̺̩͈̹̱͍̦̂̉͌̄̄͊̉̉͑͂̈́̇̉̃̈́͠ͅf̶̧̡̢̡̺͎̝̼͈̙͕̥̳͍̜̮͕̩̱͓͓̖͈̤̻̜͕̫̜̠͕̥̳̤̤͚̺̱̩͈̿̆̓̔̓̃̃̓͊̐̄͐͑́̾͌̈́͜͜͝ͅ?̴̢̛̭͉͓̙̥̞̩̯̤̠͚̰͈̌̇̌̈́̾͒̈͑̑̒̆̔́̃͜͝͠͠ ̶̨̛̛̻̝͓͚̺̩̣̰̦̞͉̗̻͓̔̊̈́̆͛̿̓̇͜Ǐ̶̢̢̨̡͎͚͍͙̭̣͖̠̼̠̭̬̳̰̫͙̼̲̗̺̯̭͍̫̣̭͎͉͖͖̝̯̹͎̼̝͓̮̂̔̈́͂̉̋͛̒̂͐̈̒͊͋̄͒͌̅́̓̐͋̒̈́͒̿̊͊̓͊̐̄̆͌̋͌̆̿̉͌̾̄͌̚͘̚̚̕͜͜͜͝͝͝ͅͅţ̶̢̨̛̟̯̥̤̳͕̗̼̲̖̻̘̫͖͉̝͍̺̭̹͍̹̖̬̠͈͍͙̘̻̪̺̫̠̯̟̺̖̜̮͔̲͆̊̎̂͐̌́͌́̉̆̈̌̒̊̊̽̀̽́̆̿͂̿̍̑́̓̐̍̿̈́̌̏̎̊͂͐̍͘͘͜͝͝ͅͅ ̷̨̧̧͍̭̺͎̟̼̟͓̬͖̯̻̙̻̰̯͐͗͝h̷̨̢̥̯̙͎̜̣͕̞͚̣͖̼̲͈̱͔̫̥͚̹̠̐̓͒̎͑͗͐̑̃̄̿̎̅͘͠͝͠ͅų̶̭̥̗͕̱̯͔̻̱̗͇͔͍̘͇͎̫̹̣̻̝͙͔͑̐̊̇̽̈́̂͆̐͌̈̽̅͒̂͠r̶̢̢̩̣̭̙̟̹̖͙̫͉̠̭̻̞̺̲͖̩̣͙̼̫̹͎͇͎̭̫̻̟̯̠̹̩͎̬͉͚̤̬̺̺͍̯̦͖̋͋̉̈̚͜͜͝t̵̨̧̛̖̠̯̫̙̪͉̺͎̰̗̼̟̹̖̹͕̆̿̿̔̽͛́̾̈́̓͋̎̉̈́̓̚͜͜͠ͅs̵̡̢̢̡̥̼̭͎͎̪͔͓̜̖̦̳̭͈̾ ̶̧̧̢̨̧͔̖͈̺͔̥̻̟̟̪͇͚̟̘͍̠̘̺̜̜͔̥͎̖̖͖̦̺͓̥̲̮̳͍̙͉̰̖͔̱̻͌̎͆̿͌̆̓͋̃̉̊̀̿͌̂̃̀́̒̇̏͛̒̃͌̋̇͒̇̇̈́̚͠ͅͅͅş̷̟̟͍̞͙͕̲̪̻̯͙̙̯̞̪̫͓͙͖͎̜̜̲̠̥̮͍͙͍̜̘̞͓̹̦̯͚͍͈͇̬̙̻͛̽̉̉̄̈́͒̌̆̈́͐̐́͌̃͐̄̉͒̉̐̇͐̂͂̌̈́̿̇̈́̄͗̀͗̚̚̕͘͘̕͝ͅǫ̸̧̡̨̡̤̙̥͙̳̹͖͎̲̘̠̤͉̩̗̭̼̥̣̘̗͚̮̫̖͈̤̪̼̣̤̘͚̯̘͖̠̦͖͕̃̿̄͆͂̈́̏̄̓̅͐̈́́͗̾͜͝͝ͅ ̸̨̨̧̨̛̩̞͚͕͔̟̯͖̪͇̪͉͔̞͓̗̳̭͎̟͇̣̮͔̜͍͙̰͍̮͖͙̯̙͎̻̖̮̱̐̍̓̓̋̈́̉͊͗͂͌̈̄̃̈͋͐̿̒̾̐̑̈́͛͐̏̑̀̒͆̑͊̑̎͊͒̑̑͛͆͌͐̒̿̄̾̇͘͠͝͝͠͠͠ͅm̵̡̛̙̗̻̟̣̺̭̻̬̜̜̭̠͙͚̣̘͖̼̜̣͉̱͖͉̫͔̬̈́̏̄́͂̽̈̽͊̎̒̿͑̈́͒̓͌͑̚͜͜ư̸̢̝̠͓̜̰̖͕͓͕̘͓̲̥̲̞͍̥̱̰͕̤̱̂͂͐̓̔̿̎͐̋̿̕ͅc̸̟͑͋̔̾̽̌̅̉͐̀̍̇͝ͅͅh̸̢̛̛͉̟̦͕̺̯̟̼͖̖̗̲̞͖̹͓̫͔͕͙͈̆̓̂̓̃̈́̓̂͐͑͊̃͛̊͛̇̆͐̎̐̅̉́̑̈́͛̉̏̕͜͝ͅ!̷̡̢̡̡̯̗̪̲̝̫̣̦̭̜̮̘̲̮͕̲̲͉͕͙͈̟̬͇̥͙̲̗̞̳̩͔̤̬̙̼͉̖͍̟̘̳̀̌̈́̉̓̏̆̂͗̍̍͐̒͌̿̽͆͂̏̅̽̋̋̔̋̓̋̎̍͋̀̋̆̊̚̕̚̚̕͘͘͜͝ ̷̧̡̧̨̧̧̡̢̝̜̬̖̹̫͎͎̻̗̖͙̝͍̦̙̤͇̺̟͓̝͚̜͓͕͈͇̣̝̥̺̪̘̻̤̺̳̠̜̭͙̇͆̾̽̍̆̃̉̒̒͒̈́͒̈́͂͒͑̉̊͂͗͑̑̂̂͗̊̓̏̋͗͌̃́̈͋̀̚̕͜͝ͅͅ

"Who the hell put this couch here?"

You begin to loosen your grip, your hands faltering around the axe. That must be Undyne. You were wondering when they'd get in. Their voice is raspy, like they've been yelling a lot. You're pretty sure they're a girl, but you can't be certain with monsters. Y o _u_  d̶̫̂o̵̺͗n̷͍͗'̷̪̚t̸͔̾ ̵͇̇w̶͖̋a̶͕͋n̸͔͘ț̸  to̸̘͚͚͉͗̉̀ aa ss ṳ̵̠̓̾̈́̀̊́̑̑ ̷̨̧̗̙̣͍̒̈́̋͛̆̍̓́͋̾̎͋͊̉̐̇̓̌͒̇̾͋͂͂̆̕̚̕͝m̴̛͖͓͚̯̯͓͕ ̵̛͔̞̫̖̖̻͕̤̭̘̘̝͔͖͇̥̙̘̠̦͊͌̇͛͐͌̀̓͆̇̓͋͒̚̚̕͘ę̴͈̟̠̖̱̞̖̞̳̟̬͊͌̌̈́͒͠ͅ any thin̷̡̛̛̹̤͚̣̺̦͍̫̣͌̑͊͊͐͂̀͆̏͑̆̆̉̇͐͊́͋͑̅̚̕͜͠͠͝͝͝ǧ̶̨̢̧̧̠͉̥̪̼͍̙̦̦͓͈̳̟͕̪̦̙̱̬̤̘̙̫̗̹̣͈͖͚̠̝̅̎̎͋̄͜͝ͅͅ.̷̧̨̢̭̗̙̬̝͚̭͈͕͉̘͎̩͔̠̘̝̰͓̩̼̪̼͈̈́̂͊̿͛́̎̐͛̚͠͝n̵̡̨̧̧̛͍̜͚͕̥͚̹͔̜͇̜͙͉̻͓͐͐͊̽̔͌̓̐̏̽̓͗͋͑̀̃̊̓͜͠ͅg̵̡̛̝̼̰͙̟͔̖̜̦̥̱̙͙̗̞͎̖͇̮͍̟̤̻̪̤͕̳̪̞̞̖̋̋̍̀̓̑̊̋͗͋̔̅͒̿̌̎̐̐̕͘͝͠.̸̰͔̪͖͛̾̅͗̓͂́͂͑̌̈́͆̍̾̅̔͐͐̐͛̇̇̋̌̽̉̅̚͝ͅṉ̴͕̼͍͕̟͖͑͌͐̿̍̕g̷̳̖̲̳̥̩̯̣̦͙̗͎̩̙͗̓͗̆̽͋̄͋͌̄̽̽͌͋̄̇̑̏͆̈́̄̆̾̂͌͆̋̈́͊̃̍̋̃̃́̚͘͝͝͝͝͝͠.̴̛̭͇͕̭̰̤̻̟̺͎͚̦̺̠͕̮̙͖̲͚͐̑͆͊̋̕͜ͅ

 

 

> **> Are you stalling again? Get to it.**

Swallowing down your fear, you grit your teeth shut to keep in the pathetic noises that are attempting to escape your throat. Flashes of being in this exact situation when you were a kid attack you viciously, rendering you unable to move. Your white-knuckled hands encase the handle of the axe again, but this time you are doing it willingly. You gain a sense of foreboding; that if you don't do as your instincts command, then that heavy cloud of despair will devour you and send you into a pain even worse than a literal axe in your head.

_Y̸̨̺̪͗̓ö̵̝́̑͗ṳ̸͑̑̓ ̷͍̀͝d̵̢̧̮͎͑͋̔o̷͇͇͒̓̉n̵͒͜'̸̟͍̲̱͒̈́̾͘ṯ̸̀̄̌ ̸͚͇̗̤̌͂͒͒w̸̔̈ͅa̷̺̝͙̓n̴̮̪̪̍̓̐̕ț̴͕̓ ̴̪͙̰̒͛͊t̶͚̤̭͋͛ò̸̩͊ ̶̗͈̑̏͂̕r̴̫̣̉̏̃͝e̸̢͑̎̀m̴̪͎̝̉̓͂e̷̤̘͇̕̚m̶̼̭͎̝̊̎̀̕b̴͚͔̠͙́̄̿͠e̷̬͛͠r̶̙͝.̶͙̱̺̹͐̇._

Throwing your arms up, there's a sickening crack.

 

The axe clatters onto the bathroom tile, staining the white with your red, as if smearing paint on a canvas.

 

Like a spell undone, time seems to speed up, and blood flows freely from your head.

 

Your breath quickens.

 

Your hands tremble.

 

Your e _ntire body_   trembles.

 

You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You remember. You...

 

You don't want to remember.

 

~~**"Ẁ̵̮̣̣̩̮̻̺̠͝ͅh̵̛̰̫̽̃̔͗̀̅̈̇͗͗̚̚͠ͅą̷̨̧̰͖̱̖̭̤̲̠̺̓ţ̴͎̗̗̲͓̬̦̩̂͂̃̔͐̋̃̿̃͆̌̈́̕͠ͅ'̵̨̡̘̭͓̖̻̘̲̭̟͔̞̯̜͎̬̩̹̰̭͎̋̐̓̋̍͊̐̓̽̓̃̂͊͗̌̎͠͝͝ŝ̵̡̢̡̪̺̯̳͕̣̳̖̰͉͙̥̤̺̈̚͜͜͜͝ ̸̧͙͈̲̠̺̯̙͓̖͉̯̫̦͈̞̥̳̗̲͈͇͋̽̀̀͌̚ͅẅ̸̢̡̧̨̨̡̛̛̗͍̱̦͓̠̻͖͉̦̳̜̩̩͚̀̅̂̎̓̓̓̿̿̆̍͜͝r̴̢̛̥̯͉̱̦͎̼̠̟̦̳͚͍͙̾̍͋̉̉͊͆̏̑̈́͋̓̔͋̑̕͝͠͝ơ̶̢̧̪̞̗̼̺͚̺͂̔͛͒̃̇̓͛͊͑͠n̷̛̛̫͓̣̪̜͍͎͕̝̤͆͋̈́̓̅́͗̈̈́̃͋̿͋̇͋̅̉̌͘͜͝g̸̡̩̳͖̩̱͓͔̳̬̼͎̬̏̍̍͋̊͑̈́̂̌̉̈́̈̕̕͝ ̵͕̬̠̙͍̻̟̭̗̗̥͚̞̟̉͋͆̿͑͗̽͒͆͑̐̓̉̎̓̑̏̕̚͠͠͠w̷͕͒̂̔̓̐̐̉͗̓̎͑͘̚͘i̵̧̥̯̞̺̖̻̳̖̰͛̇̀͒͗̇̽͘͜ţ̴͂̆͛̓̓͛͒̑̔̿͛̓͗̊̋͘͝h̴͎̣͈͍͚̗̦̫̦̣̞̠̤̭͇͇̠͛̿̓̈͒̒̉̆͛͑̿͝͝ ̶̭͍͇̖̬̿̔͊̃͗̿̈́̿͑̒̄͊͊́̑ÿ̷̨̩̭͓̥̤͉͖͈͚̩̯̺͙́̋̎̆̅̎̂̌ơ̸̧̨̟̙͖̤̣̦̣͖̳͇͓̖̯̗͉̦̱̽͊̄̂͐̏͊̋̄̉̄͒̄̍̿͑́͌͘͘͜û̸̡̱̲̰̞̰̟̂̋͛̿̅͛̅͊͗̌́̈́͝͠͝͝?̵̨̭̹͖̪̫͙͓̝͗͛͐̊͋̈͗̀̏̇̈̇͊̈́̏͋̚̕͝͝͝͝"** ~~

~~~~Just get over it.

 

 

 

You swallow down your nausea.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You're being oversensitive again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When you know who you are again, you're being carried by the same sturdy arms which lead you to your apartment. You feel paralyzed. You feel almost hollow.

 

"...Do you think they'll be okay?"

"Sure, Papyrus."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's no way i'm gonna actually keep up with that list  
> also psa: i've got school so i'm off n on whenever i can; which is rarely lmao
> 
> question: what the hell does the corrupted text say?
> 
> answer:
> 
> > Oh, but you have to.
> 
> With a pair of weak hands, you begin to jerk the axe out of your skull.
> 
> How can you be dead if you're still able to feel pain? Why are you doing this to yourself? It hurts so much.
> 
> You begin to loosen your grip, your hands faltering around the axe.
> 
> Their voice is raspy, like they've been yelling a lot. You're pretty sure they're a girl, but you can't be certain with monsters.
> 
> You don't want to assume anything.
> 
> You don't want to remember.
> 
> "What's wrong with you?"


	4. an actual introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh wouldja look at that, tiny, tiny little excerpt of backstory uwu
> 
> WARNING: GRAPHIC IMAGERY OF A MELTDOWN/PANIC ATTACK NEAR THE END. REFERENCES TO ABUSE AND NEGLECT IN THE PAST. HOLY CRAP, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. SERIOUSLY, BE CAREFUL.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta-d/proofread by my great amazing friend who goes by aueua or bed on tumblr 
> 
> here's a question! 
> 
> was y/n ever a person before they were y/n, or have they always been y/n?  
> did they become y/n?  
> is y/n just a mask?  
> are we all y/n?
> 
> that's a lot of questions. have fun reading! (extra long chapter)

When you were younger.

Those four words.

" _When you were younger._ "

Those four words have been repeated a million times among the people you've known.

_"When you were younger, you were always so cheerful and talkative. What happened? You've changed and become so quiet and... reclusive."_

_"When you were younger, you'd always run around and scream and play with the kids. Whenever you walk into a room, I never notice anymore."_

_"When you were younger, you'd smile at the oddest of times. Are you doing okay? I never see you smile anymore."_

Things change.

People change.

You change.

 

Sometimes, you wish you never did. ~~It's too late, though.~~

 

* * *

"Alright zombie, we kinda need you to get up now. Enough sleepin', darn it!"

A raspy voice pulls you out of your unpleasant floating in blank space. It slaps you across the face and makes you wish you could sleep deeper. Like the ax, that supposedly metaphorical slap is actually very real, and snaps you out of the void, or whatever you were drifting in. You make an unamused expression of pursed lips and squinty eyes, slowly forcing your eyelids to part. You don't open them entirely, but the whiteness of the room immediately hits you, and you instantly come to the conclusion that someone's taken you to the hospital. A sterile, clean scent trickles into your nose, accompanied by the scent of... sushi? Fish? Saltwater?

Your eyebrows crinkle together, then your eyes adjust to the unholy light flooding your room. Of course, your glasses are missing, so your vision's a blur. The most you can make out and identify is the bedpost and a far away calendar on the wall, along with a green vase filled with flowers. Aside from that, you can't see anything. A large, blue, red and black blur sits at your side, a little alarmingly close, and you wonder who'd have blue skin before you realize this is the person who hit you. 

They sigh, and begin to speak again, this time in a quieter voice. "Geez, we were starting to wonder if we were too late. Oh yeah, and why the hell did you put that couch there? I had to break in the door!"

 

> "You broke my door?!"

**> "Oh, so you're Undyne."**

"Oh, so you're Undyne."

Somehow you feel as though you should be a little more surprised or a bit indignant that your door is probably gone now, but you just feel drained. It probably shows on your face because Undyne is silent, and they stare at you for a second. Then, they are loud again. "Yes! I'm Undyne, and I broke your door in, then I had to pull my foot out of your couch! I also broke your other doors, and I went _all_ over the apartment with Papyrus looking for you, and I couldn't find you and we were all super worried about you!! Then other police officers came, because your neighbors called the police, but I'm a police officer too and even I nearly got arrested!"

They've become so loud you sink into your pillows, hunching your shoulders in with wide eyes. They continue to talk about what they've done and furiously lecture you, asking you what the hell you were doing in the bathroom with an ax in your head and all the doors locked. It amazes you that someone who you've never met before until now seems to care so much, enough to lecture you on safety and drinking and going home with strangers. Your original fear and slight guilt melts away when Undyne pauses to take a breath, and then fusses some more. You seem to have misinterpreted her passion as anger.

Something about this is comical enough for a giggling, burnt yellow and white blob to begin laughing from the doorway, and you watch in awe as a dark green swallows the light blue of Undyne's face faster than the realization that someone peed in the community pool. You have to imagine the wide grin they turn around and give to the newcomer, because the huge mass of red on Undyne's head blinds you.

"Alphys!"

The newcomer, now deemed Alphys, immediately stops giggling and snorting and freezes up, a slight tint coming to their face as well. You briefly get to wonder what's happening before they begin to stutter.

"Un... Undyne! I wasn't laughing at you, I, uh, I promise, well I kind of was but I didn't mean to and it was so funny watching you scold that human and I kinda got reminded of this one scene in Mew Mew Kissy Cutie episode sixty-four where the main love interest is scolding the main character for slipping on this random ice puddle and they drop this dangerous relic in the process and--"

Undyne interrupts, and their voice has this strange, dreamy, soft quality to it. It kind of makes you feel... sad. Darn it mood swings. "--then the main love interest catches the main character instead of the relic, and proves in just that one scene how important the main character is to her."

Awwww.

Alphys makes a weird noise that could be described as a squeak and a squeal and everything a fan girl does in-between. "You, you-you-you remember??? Oh my gosh, how many times, how many times have I rambled on about that episode? I'm so, sosososo sorry, you must be so sick of hearing me repeat myself about that episode!" Undyne stands up and then you realize how tall they are before they stoop down after striding to Alphys and sweep them off their feet.

Awwwwwwwwwwwww.

Undyne begins to console Alphys, who is steadily turning red, when you hear a low voice. It's got a slight goofy quality to it, like the person speaking is holding back a laugh.

"they do this all the time. sorry that this is the first thing you see when you wake up." You turn towards the source, and find yourself looking at a stout, blue and white blob that kind of quivers when it laughs. It reminds you... of a marshmallow. You can't tell what gender this one is either, so you frustratedly refer to this one as they as well. For some reason, the laughter coming out of it intensifies for no reason. 

"you're squintin' pretty hard there, buddy. d'you need your glasses that bad, or can you see just fine?"

Oh. You must've been making a face while trying to make out the face of this stranger. The large black holes bleeding into their face cause you to wonder if you're high or something, but you figure they probably just have some wacky make-up on. Or some killer eye baggage.

"I'd actually very much prefer my glasses right about now. I can't see where they are, as you can probably tell."

Slowly, almost humorously, they extend a short, blurry blue arm... to your nightstand. You look at where their hand is reaching, and-- oh.

Your glasses were sitting right beside you, actually. You just never noticed.

They pick up your spectacles and give them to you, not even bothering to hide their snickering. You feel a slight bit of embarrassment flush your ears, the heat gathering in your cheeks, before you take your glasses from them and put them on.

The first thing you notice is that the dark pools on their face are actually sockets, and that there are two little dots floating in the miniature void puddles, and that they dilate when you look straight into them.

The second thing you notice is that the blue is a jacket, the person next to you is one of the skeletons who got a sick-nasty eyeful of the ax in your head.

The third? The third thing you notice is the intense smooching going on in the background that you've willfully tuned out, until now that you've seen it. The skeleton turns around to see what you're staring at, and then turns back around almost immediately. Their grin has noticeably shrank, and you make a quiet noise of amusement. They notice, of course, the skeleton, and they begin to talk again.

"welp, now that you've gotten a whole glimpse of alph and undyne making out, i guess i'd better introduce myself too. probably with as much vigor as they have." Their grin comes back up again, and it feels strangely more genuine now that you've seen a fish monster and a vaguely reptilian monster practically eating each other's faces. You take a mental snapshot of your hospital room, of the grinning skeleton sitting at your bedside, and the two going at it in the background. It feels like being in a vine, or one of America's Funniest Home Videos. It also strangely feels warm and nice, but maybe that's cause you're tired and you pulled an ax out of your head, so everything feels nice.

They sit up very slightly once your eyes focus on them again. You wonder how skeletons get bags under their eyes while the skeleton talks. They seem to be looking all over you. Searching for injuries, you think. "i'm sans. sans the skeleton. you might've met me before." You nod, the memory rushing back to you. Now that you don't have a pounding headache and a weapon lodged in your head, you feel a lot better and you can think more clearly. Wait, was this the first time you thought about that ax? You've got to stop thinking about the damn thing.

"You and another skeleton were both in the apartment building next door. Then you came to my building."

"yep, that was us. papyrus called undyne over because you weren't lookin' so good."

You snort and mumble under your breath. "Oof."

Sans' eyes light up at the small reference to a meme. Their eyes also dilate. You feel dread and a small measure of child-like excitement creep up on you. Before they respond with another meme, you hurriedly ask for Sans' pronouns. Cold sweat gathers at your neck. It's been so long since you've asked someone about their pronouns, plus you interrupted them. What if it's a touchy subject now? When was the last time you interacted with someone new, when you even spoke to someone in real life?

Your anxiety clears up when Sans responds casually, as if people asked him for his pronouns all the time and as if it wasn't a weird thing to do. "i use he and him. undyne and alphys use she or her." It promptly flares back up at when he mentions his brother. "my brother, who you also saw earlier, uses he, just so you know ahead of time. he's probably gonna bust in any moment now, undyne style."

He does. 

Spectacularly, and loudly.

You flinch when the door opens with a slam, and that cold sweat begins to gather in your palms. You smooth your cool hospital sheets down with them, the contrast calming you for only a brief moment, and then a _very tall skeleton_ attempts to walk in through the door. Sans greets him, but his greeting chokes in his throat.

Papyrus hits his head on the door frame with a small thud, and you feel your concern override your apprehension long enough for you to ask if he's okay. You're not looking at Sans directly, but you notice in your peripherals how his eyelights shrink dramatically, and then disappear at the thud. Papyrus steps back from the door frame, backs into the white hallway, pauses, _crouches_ and  folds himself in a paper-like way, and then **shimmies** into the room while squatting. He looks like a bug, or a grasshopper creeping forward to attack its prey. The grasshopper illusion is broken when you notice the exuberant grin on his face. Still, he looks like he's having fun. Sans is quietly snickering at your side, influencing you to join in. Undyne and Alphys had torn apart at the small thud from Papyrus's skull hitting the door frame. Undyne is tall, even taller than Papyrus, and Alphys hunches over so she's shorter than both.

Alphys worries over Papyrus's head, and Undyne tells him to be more careful, taking Papyrus from Alphys to noogie him. Papyrus protests, wildly flailing, but also bending close to ninety-degrees so that Undyne can reach him. If you were to make an estimate of Papyrus's height, he'd be around six feet tall. Undyne is roughly a foot taller, making her seven feet tall or higher, while Alphys is tall enough to reach Undyne's chest while hunched, so you're guessing she's around five feet tall.

Sans stands up from the metal folding chair at your bedside to see if Papyrus is okay. He's  _tiny,_  four feet tall at the least, and standing next to his brother makes him look like a gumdrop. Alphys is taller than him. It doesn't help that he slouches, too.

These people are all in the same room together, with drastic height differences. You wonder if you'd look as tiny as Sans next to Papyrus.

"Hey, zombie!" You initially don't recognize the nickname as your own, but then you realize she's talking to you when she waves a hand in front of your face.

"Undyne, may... perhaps... maybe you shouldn't call them that. Um...That's kinda mean."

"Well, they're still alive after taking a hit that should've downed 'em, so they're kinda like a zombie in one of those human games, right?"

"Ye... Yeah, but..."

" _Zooooombies,_ Alphys."

"...Uhm, how about you, like, um, you ask the... um, the human if they're okay with being called... zom... zombie?"

Both-- wait no, _everyone_ in the room turns to you, putting you on the spot. Your sweaty palms intensify. Sans and Papyrus had been standing around in the doorway listening to them argue. Sans has his hands in his pockets and Papyrus has a worried expression on his face, like he's concerned about your feelings on this matter. He's put his gloves on his hips, like a clucking mother and it doesn't help that his gloves are practically over-sized oven mitts. It's a little funny and kinda touching at the same time. When was the last time someone worried about you since all your friends--

 

 

 

> **> shhhhh. not yet.**

You initially look around to see who they're pointing their attention to, but when you come face to face with the blank wall beside you, you turn back around sheepishly and point towards yourself. Undyne facepalms and answers. Alphys giggles, along with Sans, who you realize does not quiver when he chuckles. Papyrus cracks a small grin, which looks better than a look of concern.

"YES, YOU!!"

"Oh. Uh." Wow, it feels like it's been a while since you've heard your own voice, for some reason. Why does the sound of it surprise you?

Undyne, Alphys, and Sans wait patiently. Papyrus takes to wringing his cherry-red gloves.

 

> "If you could call me by name, that'd be a lot better."

> "I don't really like that name. Human is better, haha."

**> "I don't actually mind."**

"I... don't actually mind. If... If that's what you've been calling me all this time, I'm fine with it. You might as well, I kinda am like a zombie."

You sound unsure of yourself. Mainly because you actually do, kinda, mind. You like the sound of your own name better, but you find yourself spitting out the words with a blatant disregard for your own feelings. Undyne and Alphys don't seem to notice your hesitation, but Papyrus definitely sees it and Sans squints at you a bit. You wipe your sweaty palms on the cool bed sheets again. You should get better at hiding your feelings. 

"Well, zombie it is! My name's Undyne, but you already knew that! Apparently." Undyne grins at you, and advances to your bed. She sticks out a webbed hand and you take it, thinking that she'll shake it, but instead she squeezes. You instinctively flinch, thinking that she'll break your hand, but she's surprisingly careful. "Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you when you're already in a hospital bed, silly."

You don’t look beyond her in fear of what the others will take of your reaction.

Biting your lip and swallowing, you look up at her, and into her… yellow sclera? She only has one eye showing, the other eye covered by an… eye-patch?

Should you tell her your name?

Wait, why are you talking to yourself? Of course you should, you’re introducing yourself to her. She’s gonna look at you weirdly if you don’t introduce yourself back. Then again, she might think your name is weird. What if you use a different name? It’s not like anyone’s alive to say that your name is something else. You have an ID, but you always leave it at home. You don’t drive a car either. You drive pretty safely, you think.

 

> Y/N

> Yenin

**> /inputname**

The ideas that come to mind aren’t your name. Why can’t you just say your name?

 

 

> **> /inputname**

You try to think of a name.

…

_**> Yenin   ** _

Your name isn’t Yenin.

“Y… Yenin.” That wasn't your name. This was not your voice. Not your tongue, your body, your lips, your head--

“You can continue calling me zombie, though.”

_Please don’t._

“Sure thing, zombie!” Undyne grins. She looks happy. It alleviates your apprehension about lying, but you still feel bad. You look past her to Alphys, Sans, and Papyrus.

Alphys introduces herself, and you’re looking at her, but in your peripherals you can see Sans and Papyrus exchanging looks. Sans’ eyes are pitch black. Papyrus has that worried look on his face again. You've stopped listening.

A small amount of panic begins to curl in your gut. It grows, writhing in your intestines and filling your mind with intrusive thoughts.

What’s happening to you?

Papyrus and Sans step up to introduce themselves next. You’re starting to feel slightly intimidated because both Undyne and Papyrus are way taller than you. They’re also both noisy and their inside voices could match that of a football coach.

“Hello there, hu… zom-- Yenin?” Papyrus actively struggles to call you human and zombie. You thank someone above.

“Yes, that is…” You hesitate again. What’s up with all this confusion? Why can’t you just choose and stick with the **damn name**?

 

 

> **> ::/cmmd changename**
> 
> **> ::/cmmd input yenin**

“That is correct. My name is Yenin. Once again, I’d advise that you call me zombie. It’d do well to avoid confusion when we’re in an area with other humans, y’know?” Your lips tilt upwards in a smile. You feel like someone else is in your body, using your hands and arms and legs and moving your face, shaping the words in your throat and making you puke them out. It’s now that you notice a small amount of static in the background.

Your eyebrows push together, creating a small crease. Were you ever in control of your life, even when you felt you were genuine?

 

No one answers.

You thought someone would, but there’s only radio silence.

Nausea builds up in your throat like a boulder. It makes you grit your teeth to keep yourself from saying anything else as Sans speaks, and it causes him to eye you in slight concern. You don’t even hear what he says because the static in your ears has swallowed all noise. Your right hand is trembling slightly. The other, however, is completely calm. You clasp them together in an effort to calm yourself and conceal the shaking. It seems a bit too late, because Alphys makes a sympathetic face and begins to shoo the others out of the room.

“Uh, alright! I think visiting hour should be done soon. We… We should give Yeh... uh, Yenin some um, some space. This has prob… This has probably been a very odd experience, and I would be really scared, too.” She smiles at you, and it’s in that instant that Alphys and you become friends. She doesn’t quite understand all that you’re going through, but she’s experienced enough of it herself to know when you need time alone.

Papyrus protests, a strange pair of spaces above his eye sockets where his eyebrows should be pressing together. The bone of a monster skeleton, you find, can be oddly durable and flexible, especially when it comes to expressing themselves. Undyne is trying to pull him through the doorway by tugging on his turtleneck, which has a huge dip in the middle because he doesn’t have anything to fill it. It disconcerts you slightly. While he had been standing up straight, there was some sort of air pocket that made it look like he had a stomach, but now that Undyne is pulling on the clothing he’s wearing, Papyrus looks like a real skeleton. Which… he is, of course! Not that you ever doubted it, but sometimes you get confused.

Sans even kinda looks like he’s got actual weight on him, which confuses you every time you look. You don’t point it out, because that would be rude.

While you’ve been zoning out and thinking to yourself, staring at Papyrus’s stomach gap with a blank expression, Sans has been staring at you. In fact, Alphys has noticed all the observations going on and notes to herself to update her shipping chart. You wouldn’t know that, though.

Though the white noise in your head doesn’t allow for you to hear anything past what Alphys says, you still appreciate Papyrus’s concern. Turning away from the door frame, you notice Sans standing out in the hallway and looking right into your SOUL. His stare causes the goosebumps to rise out of your skin, and you quickly avert your line of sight to the bed sheets. They’re just as white as Sans’ bones, and you can’t help but think about those bottomless pits boring into your own skull. You begin running your hands through the sheets once more, if only to distract yourself.

Eventually, everyone leaves with a chorus of goodbyes, Undyne convincing Papyrus that you’ll be just fine. When Sans says goodbye his entire demeanor changes, and you get the feeling that his friends often don’t notice his odd looks and mood swings. He’s back to being the casual, goofy guy everyone knows and loves, even winking at you as they leave. Your confusion keeps you from noticing the way his grin seems to falter. He’s the last one in the room and everyone else is already down the hallway.

He’s… still here.

He’s also still staring at you. At least he’s still not making that scary face, but you feel just a tad bit awkward. Your feelings about him standing all alone in the room with you could be described as fear and confusion. What will he say? What will he do? You don’t know, and it terrifies you suddenly. You want to be in control. You’re not in control, though. You’re not you.

Were you ever who you thought you were?

 

 

> **> No. You never will be.**

The nausea comes back, and when Sans tries to say something intimidating, you puke. You have a faint sense of deja vu. There’s stomach acid and last… the night before last night’s vodka all over the white sheets and a little on the floor. Sans is definitely disgusted. You’re aware of how hungry you are now.

Actually, did you even eat the day when you went out drinking?

What about the day before that day?

Can you remember?

The answer is: No, you can’t.

You can’t remember anything past yesterday and the night before.

You’re a miserable piece of trash that can’t even control their own body. You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?

 

 

 

> **> Ḑ̷̢̨̛̲̙̣̯̫̻̺̩̜͓̬̎̈́̒̆̇̓̈͠͠o̵̙͂͗̄̅̿͂͝ ̵̔̈̆́̈́̓̌͑͐̎̽̍͂ͅy̸̧̲͈̲̲͕̟̣͆̄̋̈́͘̚ͅõ̶͚̦̠̪̦͈̜͇͚̃̿͂͘̚͝ͅu̸̘̝͇̓̽̕͜?̶̢̛̛̠͚̪͕̣̎̓̎͐́̔͂̕**

 

You gag on your stomach acids again, a hand rushing up to your mouth, and Sans stops standing there with a look of disgust on his face to run off and get a nurse. He’s yelling, which sounds weird with his goofy voice, and you think about Goofy.

Goofy the Disney character. Goofy singing “Bring Me to Life”.

You smile unwillingly, and now you’re laughing. Your throat burns from throwing up, you feel disgusting, there’s nurses flooding your room and oh, you just collapsed. You lost control over your body again. That’s unfortunate.

You feel something coming up again. Your hand tightens over your lips, but the liquid still spills out past your fingers, staining the pillow.

Well, now you’re lying down in a puddle of your puke. A nurse in pink scrubs covered with dinosaurs rushes in with the marshmallow in blue. Someone’s yelling. It sounds really muffled, huh?

Deja vu. Have you done this before? You feel like you have. Maybe it was while you went out drinking. You puked all over yourself, probably, and then you puked on the bar counter, fainted, and you woke up in a puddle of your own puke.

Oh, the nurse is propping you up. Oops, you puked on her too. Haha, what a great time you’re having. Everything is fine. You’re crying from embarrassment, filling your lenses with water. You really want to go home. This is potentially the worst day you’ve had so far. You can’t remember the rest of your life except for coming home from the bar and waking up with an ax in your head. Maybe you should say this is the worst week you’ve had so far. That sounds better, right?

Something tightens, and a rush of dizziness makes you sway. Here comes another tidal wave! This is starting to get boring. You’re real _sick_ of puking. There’s little trails of blood in what you’re spitting up now. Actually, more than just blood. There’s a stray…

The nurse lets go of you when you begin to hack and retch again. You fall back onto your pillow, and your hair has puke in it. Well, more than it already did. What matters more is the finger in your hand. No, not the ones connected to you, the one you just pulled out from the back of your throat. You thought you’d suffocate, haha.

This isn’t funny at all. No, this has got to be all a really bad joke. Your mouth stings and burns and tastes like metal and the longer you stare at the finger in your hand, the more tears come out and the worse you feel. Your hair is sticking to your face. You’re sweating. The room is a blur around you. A string of saliva sticks to the finger. The fingernail is… the fingernail is missing. Your hands begin shaking again, so you throw the finger onto the floor in a puddle of more of your body fluids. It makes a wet noise. You hiccup and sob and sniffle and everything smells like puke now. Your world is spinning, and despite the stuff on your hand, you bury your hands in your hair and pull on it.

This can’t be happening.

_This can’t be happening to you._

_Everything had been going just fine. You just got out of therapy. You were healing._

_Why_ **_does it have to be like this?_ **

Biting your lip so hard you’re not sure if the copper mingling your mouth is the finger or your own blood, you begin to violently shake. Someone tries to rub circles into your back, but they only startle you and make you start screaming nonsense. You have a complete breakdown.

Your lungs constrict, and you can’t breathe anymore.

It’s like someone stabbed you in the heart.

It’s like someone tore your mind from your body and filled the windows with eyes.

Your throat closes in on itself, and it feels like all of those times you caught your mom and dad arguing, when you saw your dad hit your sister, when your dad hit you, when those bullies from middle school tracked you down to your house and--

 

 

> **> Stop crying.**

You can’t. You can’t stop crying once you’ve begun. You’re a huge crybaby. Your face is flooded with salty tears and you get some in your mouth. You must look like a mess right now. The nurse has left and come back with someone holding something. You can’t stop shaking long enough to see what they’re holding. Sans is nowhere to be found. You find yourself wishing he were there. At least then you’d know who to look at for moral support.

A sharp pain in your neck. You shriek and push them away, the person with the tranquilizer wrestling with you. They can’t push the needle in all the way, and it scratches your skin. You cry out and the stuff inside spills onto your hospital gown. Another person rushes into the room to help hold you down. They yell over each other, and the static noise in your ears clears up long enough for you to hear them.

_“Hold her down! She’s gonna fight!”_

_“I gotcha. Please, stop moving..!”_

_“If you keep on moving, the needle will hurt more, gal.”_

_“You can’t keep on doing this, lady! Calm down! Miss, can you hear me? Please calm **down**.” _

The loud voices only make you panic worse. Even if they sound like they're coming through a locked door, your mood tumbles further down the drain, and you start kicking, remembering that your legs exist in this nightmare. Your body is a feather, your head is lighter, and you’re going to fly out of here. 

You fling the sheets off of you, a hand pushing you not so gently down onto the bed, and you remember something you wish you didn’t with just a touch. You scream again, and a hand covers your mouth, shushing you. You choke and sob, your tears running down the fingers of the person muffling you.

Your arms are weak again, and you begin sobbing.

You aren’t part of this world anymore, and while the bed sheets sit on the tiled floor, stained with yellow and brown with your vomit, you visit your memories. A needle plunges into your neck swiftly, and your vision goes dark. Your mind, however, is still awake, and it tortures you with a looping memory of when you dared to disobey your father in favor of stalling for time so your sister could run away from home.


	5. a letter to your dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey i'm back from hel- hiatus
> 
> thank you guys for your support and for commenting! qwq i live off of your encouragement, and just giving me kudos makes me feel so happy. commenting and telling me what parts you liked or screamed at motivates me even more! thanks so much again, all of you. you really help to push this fic. 
> 
> anywaysssssssssssss!
> 
> WARNING: CHILD ABUSE, PAST NEGLECT, ALCOHOLISM, EXPLICIT DESCRIPTIONS OF HARM, AND THEMES OF DEPRESSION 
> 
> is the last one one you warn for?? i guess. better update the tags after this
> 
> if any of this doesn't seem right for someone in an abusive scenario, i'm completely open to any help to make this more realistic. i'm basing it off of my own personal experiences.
> 
> double edit: didnt touch this for who knows how long and forgot to publish it- there's probably a high chance there's a ton of purple prose in here and some mistakes bUT YOU KNOW WHAT I'M GONNA THROW THIS OUT HERE

He had started by coming to your room personally to ask where your older sister was. You knew that whatever he was going to say next would decide whether or not today's verbal whip-lashing would include physical harm. You had heard his footsteps before he entered the room, since you memorized the way the stairs creaked on that third step up so you'd have a few extra seconds to hide anything that might earn you some thwacks. 

"Where is Lindsey?"

Oh, thank god for small blessings. He wasn't smashed for once. His face wasn't red enough. But you never know, he could have had a nice, early morning, chilled beer to go with breakfast. You wouldn't know about that, considering that you were busy trying to be good enough, fast enough for him not to hit your head again. Dad's temper was always shorter in the morning. Speaking temper, though, Dad never liked it when you didn't respond immediately.

You murmur the rehearsed words you had pulled out of your ass hours before, when your sister told you she was safe. _Act normal_ , you tell yourself. _Don't make eye contact. You never do._ "She's in her room sleeping. I think," you tack onto the end. You're very aware of your forgetfulness, and your sheer inability to retain recent details or knowledge without having to smash them into your memory. In response to your nonchalant, low answer, your father's voice goes down a few pitches. "She isn't."

Praying to whatever the hell has been watching you at night, you make a slightly confused noise. "Hah? Is she in the bathroom?" You knew exactly where she was, and it seemed that Dad hadn't known that she left until he was done smoking outside. The backyard door was very loud when it opened and closed, and the blinds over the window on the door would clink and hit the glass when it moved. Dad always stayed outside for periods that lasted around three hours to the whole day, if he wasn't watching the news or working. Your father didn't come back in for another two hours after Lindsey left, catching a ride to a friend's house in her friend's car. Luckily, their parents already knew about what was going on. 

Father lets out a harsh breath through his nose, like a mad bull about to charge. Just that noise from him makes you flinch slightly, being the coward that you are. You're suddenly made all the more aware of your greasy hair and your equally disgusting skin. You should have showered hours ago, but you couldn't bring yourself to get out of bed. You didn't want to move at all, and you hadn't for same amount of time that your father stayed outside. "No. She's not downstairs either."

He looks at you, straight in the eyes, from the door frame. You both hold eye-contact for a second, cold sweat gathering in your palms. Fear crawls up your spine, but you stay calm, because this is all for your older sister. You love her more than anything, which means you'd let your dad beat you for hours, even till you died, if it meant she could get out of this absolute hell hole alive. Even if she was using you to get out, you wanted nothing more than for her to live. Her happiness meant the world to  you. So, when your dad advances, hand raised and stoic expression twisted in anger, you don't even try to struggle.

 _"Where is she?"_ Dad growls, his low voice crackling with fury. You feel tears burn your eyes already, because of his tone and the volume of his loud, always too loud voice, and the _flames_ that spread across your face, scorching their ruby path. You had flinched in anticipation at his hit, but didn't try to hide behind your hands. Hiding only made it worse. He'd tear your hand from your face to strike you, and hit you even harder for resisting discipline. You hated it, the way that he'd sometimes laugh at the way you cried, or how you'd scream. You hated it most when he'd lecture you and tell you to shut up when you were sobbing.

You insist on your ignorance. " _I don't know!"_ You hiccup. There's a lump in your throat that makes it hard to speak, and fat tears roll down your hot cheeks already. But he keeps on yelling at you, keeps on hitting you, yanking you by your skinny arm out of bed and out into the entertainment area. There's more room out there for him to beat you. You account his lack of alcohol or cigarettes to his unwarranted anger, because you just don't want to accept that the soft-spoken man you knew growing up turned into this crazed mess. You're trembling in anticipation at the second strike, which comes in the form of another smack across the face. You start to back away from him, towards the stairs, but he yells for you stay where you are, otherwise he'd hit you some more. Your fear is so strong that it wraps around your heart and chokes you.

With your hands in front of your face, in a weak attempt to parry any punches he'll throw at you, you start to back towards the stairs some more, taking your eyes off of him and towards the stairs, then back. He lashes out at you with a punch again, shouting. You cry for your real dad back, stumbling away from his hard fists.  _" **Where is she? Tell me! You know where she is!** "  _You heave a sob, fighting to keep your measly dinner of stashed away snacks down. God, you're so hungry as it is. You don't want to throw up any of the food you still have left in your stomach. You haven't eaten with your family for a week, because your mom told your dad that you were getting chubbier. Then, your dad told you that you couldn't have dinner until you were skinny again. 

Looking back and forth between your scumbag, drunkard, abusive father, and the dangerous stairs that you've fallen down one or twice as a child-you choose another fall down the stairs. You know it'll hurt less than your dad's fists. He was a muscular man with a scraggly bush of stubble, and you wanted nothing more to get away from him.

The world rolls around you. A blur of white, and then black, because you shut your eyes tight in hopes that it'll snap your fucking neck. You curl into a ball to protect yourself, and when you hit your head on the banister at the third step, where the stairs take a turn, you immediately spring up, despite everything still turning, and wobbly begin to run towards the front door, barefoot. You struggle with the lock a bit, your hands shaking and too weak to do anything, when you hear your dad thundering down the stairs. Adrenaline and fear combine to make an unholy, crazy, chemical reaction in your body, and you throw the front door open to run out in the night.

Hours before, you planned your sister's escape with her friends, and then, one of them asked, "How are you going to get out?"

You told them, "I'll do whatever I can. If I can't go, I'll stay, and I'll take all of the beatings for her."

Running down the path leading from your front door to the parking space, you don't dare look behind you. You continue at your fastest out into the street, the rough ground barely hitting your calloused feet. You're flying through the neighborhood, headed out towards the gas station, where it'll hopefully be open. Your father comes out of the house wearing his socks, yelling for you to get your ass back into the house. You hope the neighbors hear, because you're already outside of the neighborhood. Pros of living on the edge, but you're terrified of being hit by a car. Still, the feeling of tentative freedom sticks with you. It's addictive enough for you to continue running, your chest heaving and heaving. You're sure that your dad isn't following you on foot, but he sounded so close when he yelled. 

Oh god, what if he's getting into his car?

You speed up, and run across the street to the 24/7 gas station. When you throw the glass door open and run towards the cashier, a young teen fumbling with a stack of quarters, he yelps. You slam your hands on the counter with a slapping noise. "Please- please hide me, I need to hide he's coming-" You nearly puke on yourself in your fumble for words, looking behind you constantly to make sure that your dad's car wasn't speeding into the gas station's space. It's barren of anyone, save for some shady guy sitting on the corner, smoking something. You look back at the cashier desperately, your eyes wide. You must've seemed insane, but instead, the boy nodded shakily and rushed to open the back room to you. Your knees nearly collapse in relief, but you hear a car begin to pull into the lot. Without looking behind you in terror, you practically scramble into the employee's only area, and throw yourself into the first storage closet furthest from the door. 

The teen locks the closet for you, after handing you his phone.

You dial your sister, and hold the phone up to your ear, trembling violently. It begins to dial loudly, at the highest volume possible, and inside of the silent closet, you nearly cry. You keep yourself as quiet as you can, pressed up against cardboard towers, and curl up as tight as you can. The phone rings once, then twice, and your sister's monotonous and drawling voice answers. You sag in relief. She sounds safe. It's enough to make part of your rabbit-brain calm down.

"Helloooo?"

"Lindsey?" Your voice quavers when you whisper. It cracks a bit.

"M-"  


Outside of the employee's room, there's a loud bang. A thud- and the sound of a body hitting the ground. You curse under your breath, and the dried up canals in your face start to run with fresh saltwater again. "He's here-!" You hang up the call, and hug the phone close to your body, scrambling in the closet to shrink the smallest you already are, biting your lip harshly to muffle your sobbing. Your chest stutters no matter how hard you try to hold your crying back.

* * *

 You wake up in the hospital.


End file.
